Bucket List
by staceycj
Summary: AU: Preseries. Unsettling news upsets Bobby and puts him in a difficult position within the Winchester family.
1. Chapter 1

"Bobby."

"Mark?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"You don't usually call. What's the matter?" The man on the other end sighed deeply. "Come on man tell me."

"The Winchester boy."

"Dean?"

"Yeah." Bobby's body went cold with the confirmation. Mark was a doctor that Bobby sent hunters to when there was no other recourse. He didn't ask questions and he accepted a variety of payments in kind for his services. Mark was a damn good doctor and he never called Bobby unless there was a problem. It must be really bad.

"Dean." Mark started. "Dean came to me complaining of not feeling so well, well I did tests and he…he's sick Bobby."

"How sick?" Singer was a realist, and he knew that it wasn't something as simple as a cold or the flu, but just for a second he wished he was a man who was prone to bouts of optimism and hope.

"Like, not going to make it much longer sick." Bobby fell back against the chair he was sitting on; he could actually feel the blood drain from his face.

"John know?"

"John fell off the radar."

"What do you mean?"

"Dean doesn't know where he is."

"That boy is always on his daddy's heals."

"I think John got wind of the demon and abandoned Dean."

"And Sam is at Stanford."

"Yeah. And Dean isn't going to tell him I don't think."

"What?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"He doesn't want Sam bothered, threatened to kill me if Sam got any wind of the news. And Bobby, sick or not sick, I think that boy would use his last breath to take out anyone who hurt his brother's chances for happiness."

"Yeah, the idjit values Sam more than his own life." Bobby ran a cold hand down his face and when he looked down at his hand he realized that it was shaking. This couldn't be happening. It simply couldn't. "Did he say you could tell me?" Bobby finally asked.

"All he said was that he was heading to your house. I wanted to give you a heads up, and I wanted you to see if there was anything on the supernatural front that could help the boy. Because on the medical front, he…he's simply dying Bobby. His body just can't survive this."

"What is it?"

"Cancer."

"Oh."

"Yeah. All I can say is that I gave him pain meds for when he's at the end. He will be in a lot of pain when the end comes."

"I'll take care of him. Thanks Mark."

"No problem Bobby." Bobby hung up the phone and looked around his house. He could see the ghost of child Dean in the kitchen fixing cereal for his little brother, teen Dean drinking a beer in front of the television, laughing at something on the idiot box. He pushed the memories away, and focused on the present. He had to figure out how to help Dean.

Dean arrived at the salvage yard a day or so later, and he came in with all of his usual swagger and charm. He tried to tell Bobby that he was in between hunts and he just wanted to check in with the old man. He went to the kitchen and got a beer out of the refrigerator, leaned against the counter crossing one boot clad foot over the other, popped the top off of the bottle with his ring, and then took a long draught from the bottle.

"So what's new?" Dean asked.

"Your cancer." The bottle didn't make it to his lips a second time. It ended up on the counter behind him, arms spread, hands clutching the edges of the counter top, and his head hanging.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"We will talk about it."

"Or what? You'll ditch me? Too late Bobby, everyone already has. It doesn't matter. I didn't think I'd get to live older than 30 anyway. Doesn't matter." Bobby crossed the distance quickly and grabbed Dean's shirt in two fistfuls and brought his face mere inches from his own.

"Boy. Don't you ever act like I don't care about you. When Mark called, the news just about brought me to my knees." Bobby was shaking him now. "I want to know what is going on. You will be staying with me. You aren't to hunt anymore. You are to stay here and just be a kid. You are going to…"

"You're not my father."

"No, your father is God knows where, hell bent on revenge."

"What if I don't want to stay here?"

"And go where? Act like a dog and go away to die? Go in the middle of the woods and let yourself get eaten by a Wendigo?"

"Better than watching myself wither away and die. At least that way I'll die strong."

"Boy. Boy. There is more to being strong than dying with your body intact."

"Not for a soldier."

"You are a person first." Dean looked down clearly not believing him. Bobby shook him again. "You are a person Dean Winchester. And you are going to stay here. You are going to have a stable life for once in your life. There is no arguing. This will happen. I can disable that car of yours and I will."

"I'll walk out of here." He said with his last ounce of defiance.

"No you will not." Dean licked his lips and looked into Bobby's eyes and Bobby read the fear in them as clearly as reading a book.

"I'm scared Bobby." He said softly and the elder hunter let go of his shirt and held the child a fierce hug that he hadn't given since Dean was small and had broke down after the whole shtriga thing. Dean was suddenly that child again, and Bobby Singer cursed John Winchester for not seeing Dean as what he really was. He missed this boy's childhood, teen years, and now he was going to miss what was left of his son's life.


	2. 17

**AN: This story has two possible endings, and I think I may end up writing both. Just for those of you who are afraid of a certain ending. **

Dean sat in the kitchen, the sun hadn't quite risen over the horizon, but the sky was beginning to lighten in preparation for the sunlight to come. Dean looked down at the bowl of cereal he was eating, Honey Nut Cheerios, what he actually liked, not what Sam liked and just listened the crunch, and wondered just how many more times he would be able to enjoy a meal like this. Did it really matter? Honestly. Did his life matter enough for anyone to really and truly care if he had another bowl of cereal, another sunrise, another anything?

"Dad just ditched me." he mumbled to the table. "Just friggin' ditched me. Like I was a kid." He shook his head and pulled the sheet of paper closer to him. Last night, after he went to bed, or told Bobby that he was going to bed, he got out a sheet of paper and began a list. A list of things he wanted to do before…well…before. So far all he had was "Dean's to do list" at the top of the blank sheet of paper. He licked his lips, set the spoon down and picked up the pencil beside him.

1) See Sam again

2) Make sure Sam is okay

3) Spend the summer with Bobby fixing cars

4) Spend an evening sitting on the front porch watching the sun set, drink a beer, with Bobby

5) Tell Sam that I love him

6) Write a journal of all of the things I remember, that were good, from our childhood

7) Write entries in the journal of all of the not so good things that I remember from our childhood.

He sighed, put the pencil down and rubbed his eyes. He was 26 years old and he was writing his bucket list. Writing down things that he wanted to do before he died, like he was an old man, an old man who had nothing to live for except for a list, a list that in the grand scheme of things just simply didn't matter.

He shook his head and picked up his spoon and lifted the cereal to his mouth and the satisfying crunch of the honeyed oats was no longer there. Instead he got a mouthful of soggy cereal, sighed, and pushed the bowl away from him. He did not do soggy cereal. He heard Bobby's boots clomping down the stairs and he hurriedly put the piece of paper into his jeans and pulled the bowl closer to himself and began stuffing his mouth full of the unsavory cereal.

"You're up early." Bobby said by way of greeting on his way to the coffee maker.

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep."

"What's the matter?" Dean shrugged. "You not feeling well?"

"Just tired and I've felt that way for a while now."

"You gonna call your brother today?"

"What?" Dean asked as he almost choked on the soft sweet rings.

"Are you going to call your brother? You know that guy, real tall, you took care of him all of his life, at Stanford?"

"I know who he is." Dean said with an eye roll. "Why would I call him?"

"To tell him you're sick?"

"Nah." Dean said with a shrug and pushed the Cheerios around the bowl.

"Nah?" Bobby asked and took a seat next to the younger hunger. "You aren't going to tell your brother that you are dying?"

"No." Bobby waited for further explanation. Dean wasn't going to give one.

"No. Just like that? The boy who followed you around here like a lost dog all of those years, you aren't going to call him and let him know what you are going through?"

"No." Dean said again and refused to look up at Bobby.

"Why the hell not?"

"Why should I?"

"Because he's your brother, you idjit."

"He doesn't call me."

"That isn't an excuse."

"It would be if you were talking to Sam."

"Dean…."

"Look, I really don't want to talk about this. I really don't. You want me to work in the yard with you? Or are you just going to keep me captive until I die?" Bobby sighed inwardly, Dean's bravado was back and it would inhibit Bobby from making any headway with the boy. Once Dean locked down there was no key, well there was one key, but it was at Stanford with the boy who wouldn't call or write, with the boy who left his brother and left him alone and lost. In some respects Dean didn't know who he was without his little brother trailing after him, and ever since Sam left, Dean had lost his spark and lust for life, become more quiet and brooding, more like he had been after Mary died. It pained Bobby to see him like this.

"You can come on out to the yard and work. But I ain't payin' you." Dean gave the barest hints of a smile.

"Whatever dude. You keep thinking that."

"There's a Mustang out there that needs some attention." Dean nodded, poured out the last of his breakfast, rinsed out the bowl and set it in the sink and headed out to the yard. When the door closed, Bobby felt a sense of emptiness, like Dean took some of the air supply in the room with him. Was that what it was always going to feel like when the boy left them for good? Bobby stood, pulled a bottle of the hard stuff out of a cabinet and poured a liberal dose into his coffee and downed it.


	3. How

Headaches sucked. They sucked louder than any rock music that Dean Winchester had ever heard, and he had heard some loud shit in his day. He grinned a little when he thought back to that AC/DC concert he managed to sneak into, that had been loud, and his hears rung for hours afterwards, but it had been worth it.

Popping the pain pills was the least of his concerns, he had been popping pain meds practically his whole life, weather it was for a hurt arm, because a Windego got a hold of it, or a bruised chest because they weren't kidding when they called it sheet rock, or when he had a gash in his leg so deep that it touched bone because apparently, when ghosts were really pissed they could throw knives. But the pain in his head, the new pain, the pain that indicated mortality, that was something to get used to.

The headaches were the reason he went to Mark's practice in the first place. Thinking they were migraines, like he had had when he was younger, he went to Mark, who was usually pretty good about getting hunters medications in exchange for their expertise or services later on. However, instead of the migraine medication, he was escorted by Mark, who was convinced he wouldn't go on his own, and forced to endure test after test after test, until they decided that he had a nest of little tumors that were going to grow into big tumors and turn his brain into liquid. Oh yeah, what a great way to end that week. So, here he was, at Bobby's, watching the sun rise, because he hadn't slept but two minutes or so all night, his head had been pounding so hard. At least he stopped throwing up.

"You all right boy?" Bobby asked as he walked into the kitchen. Dean turned quickly, throwing his equilibrium off and catching the counter to steady himself. "Now don't you go saying that you're fine. I heard you throwing up most of the night." He said eyeing the younger man as he headed towards the coffee maker.

"I'm better." Dean conceded. "Just a rough night." He added and took another long drink of water.

"Is this something I need to talk to Mark about?"

"No. It is what is expected. I'm gonna have good days and I'm gonna have some hellacious ones. Last night was just not so good. I'm feeling better. I just took something to hopefully dull the pain a little."

"How long is this…." Bobby couldn't figure out how to put it. How did one ask if this was the beginning of the final days or weeks of someone's life? How did he do that? How did he look Dean, the man who he had helped shape into the man he was, in the eye and ask him about how much longer he had left?

"Mark said that I still have time. I called him yesterday when I started feeling really bad, asked if I should start taking my, final days meds, and he said that I still had some time in me." Bobby nodded, rested his backside against the counter next to Dean and took a sip of the hot slop that passed for coffee.

Dean looked at his feet and sighed. There was a lot to say, things he had to be sure of for when he was gone, so he could rest, so that there would be no unfinished business, so that he wouldn't become the things that they hunt. It was just so hard, so hard to speak the words that would tuck your life into a neat box and allow to be shoved into the back of the closet until everyone in the world forgot you existed.

"So, uh, Bobby." Dean licked his lips and tried again. "I need you to promise me some things, you know, stuff I want you to make sure happens when I go."

"What do you want?"

"Uh, I kinda want you to promise me to put a bullet in my brain before I'm really gone. You see, I did some reading up on what this does…I just don't want to end up that way. I would rather you just put a bullet in between my eyes-"

"No."

"Bobby. Please. I need you to do that for me. You would put one of your dogs to sleep if it was dying the way that I'm dying. Why won't you do the same for me? Put me out of my misery."

Bobby's eyes stung. How could he do that? "Dean. I don't think I could do that."

"You have to Bobby. You're the only one who can."

"Dean, I helped raise you, I watched you grow up. I can't just put a bullet in between your eyes and be the one responsible for your death."

"You wouldn't be. This damn disease is the responsible party. You will just be the one to make the inevitable happen more quickly, and not let me lose what is left of my dignity."

"Dean."

"Please. I'm beggin' you. I don't ask anyone for much. This is just what I need."

Bobby sighed, Dean was right, he never did ask for much. But when he did ask for something, it sure as hell was a doozy. He thought for a few moments, thought about pulling the trigger and watching Dean's brains splatter all over his walls, watching the light evaporate from his eyes, watching him drop to the floor as nothing but dead weight, and he fought the lump in his throat, forced it to go down. But then he thought of what Dean would become, or what this disease would take away from him, what it would reduce him to, and Bobby couldn't see it as a better alternative. In fact it was almost worse. Bobby took a deep breath, looked at Dean and said softly and with a slight hesitancy, "I will."

"Promise it."

"Come on now."

"Promise it." Dean said louder, his green eyes intense and unwavering.

"I promise."

"Thank you." Dean said with a nod. "I want salted and burned too. I want the car to go to Sammy. If he wants it. Who knows he may not want it." He said and then mumbled. "Sammy."

"What?"

"I think it's time I go see him. One last time." Dean, finally feeling steady enough, pushed himself away from the counter and started walking away. Bobby watched his retreating form and as soon as Dean was out of his line of sight his head fell to his chest. He had just allowed himself to be wrapped in a promise that he didn't want to keep. He couldn't do that. He couldn't kill the closest thing to a son he had. How could Dean ask that of him? How could he be so calm, so collected, and ask him to do something so horrifying so disgusting? How could Dean want to be put down like a dog? He knew the answers. They were the same reasons he would want the same thing. There was just one question that Bobby couldn't find an answer for.

Bobby looked up at the ceiling and asked God angrily, "How could you do this to him?"


	4. Seeing Sammy

"Sam. Come on. You want to go out tonight. You've been stuck in this apartment for weeks!"

"Jess. I need to work on this paper, I can't help that your senior year is the busiest. I have to do this paper, read a book, I think, yeah," he said as he checked his syllabus. "Yeah, because I've procrastinated, I have to read the entire book by Monday. Not to mention that project my law prof wants to do. Jess. Next weekend I promise." She sighed and put her hands on her hips and smiled.

"You are so cute when you pout." He smiled. Realization dawned on her and she smacked his shoulder. "That's why you do it! You bastard!" she said laughing and sat down on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I do it because you like it." He said and kissed her neck.

"No, no no. If you have so much work to do that you can't go out with me and the others, then you don't have time for that either." She looked down and saw the puppy dog stare. "Oh no. You are not getting away with that. I will not be swayed tonight. Callie has been begging me to do something with her this weekend, and I want to go. So, no, no matter how many puppy eyes you give—" There was a knock on the door. Jessica jumped off of his lap and her grin widened. "Looks like she's here." She flounced to the door and opened it.

"Can I help you?" Jessica asked when she realized that Callie was not the one standing at the door. The man standing there, took off his sun glasses and smiled at her.

"Yes, actually, does Sam Winchester live here?" he asked. Sam sat straight up. He knew that voice. He got up out of the chair slowly.

"Yeah. Sam lives here. Who are you?" she asked, sensing danger in the man who looked innocent in his stylishly cut up jeans and his light long sleeve AE tee shirt. Danger didn't have to wear leather and have tattoos. Danger knew no specific packaging.

"Dean?" Sam said quietly from behind her. She turned.

"You know him?" she asked.

"Yeah. He's my brother." Sam said in awe. He hadn't seen Dean since the day he stormed out of the motel room, after his father said things, things that prompted this estrangement. He still remembered the look on Dean's face that day, still remembered the look of horror as his brother picked up his belongings and left. He had heard from him once, a week after he settled in, a voice mail, checking on him, making sure that he made it all right. He never once mentioned lining the doors with salt, or anything supernatural, he simply called asked if he had all of the books he needed, all of the supplies, and asked if he needed money. Because if he needed money, Dean said he would do some serious hustling and get him the money he needed. But Sam hadn't returned that call, he had still been angry, and then when he wasn't angry any more he had waited too long to call back.

"Hey ya Sammy." Dean said with a small sad smile. Sam looked good, looked better than good. He looked happy and settled. And if this girl was Jessica, and he was fairly certain she was, then he was more than settled with the beautiful blond. On the drive here, he had considered telling Sam the reason he was coming, telling him that this was it for him, that he would be dead in a matter of months, but seeing his brother, seeing him looking happy and well rested, he simply couldn't do it. He could never lay that burden on his brother's shoulders and then leave.

"What are you doing here Dean?"

"Just passing through, wanted to apologize for the last time we spoke, and invite you and your girl out to dinner with me tonight." He said hopeful.

"You want to go out to dinner with us?" Sam said confused and suspicious.

"Just hoping to mend fences." Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. He was so out of his element. He just wanted to spend the evening with his brother, he didn't want to cause a scene, didn't want to get him involved in a hunt…anything. Just wanted to sit and listen to Sam tell him about school, get to know his brother's girl before he died. Just wanted to be sure Sammy was good before he died. He even cleaned up, tried to look Joe-college, tried to blend in so his cover story would mesh, so he wouldn't embarrass his brother by looking poor, and looking rough, and looking like a thug. Looking like someone who was destined to simply work on cars for the rest of his life.

"Dad?"

"He's at home."

"Aren't you going to invite him in Sam?" Jessica asked suddenly feeling like a third wheel.

"Yeah. Sorry. Come on in Dean." They moved from the door and he stepped through. Dean saw the mountain of books and papers strewn about the desk with a lap top on with a word document up, and then looked at his brother. He suddenly felt very stupid for coming here. Sam had a life, Sam was busy. Sam's life was full, Sam didn't need him, Sam was an adult now, Sam….

"Oh you're busy. Sorry. I should have called first." He said and gave Jessica a smile and a nod. And started to turn away.

"No, wait, Dean." Dean turned at Sam's voice.

"You came all of the way out here," Sam grabbed his coat, "Let's go get dinner. A couple of my friends are waiting for us anyway. "

"I don't want to intrude."

"You're not." Jessica said. "As a matter of fact it's a good think you came. Sam wasn't gonna go before you got here. He needs a break, his brain is going to explode."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, Sam will work and work and work and not eat or sleep if you don't make him. Did that a lot growing up." He said with a nod and shoved his hands in his jeans.

"Yeah, well you might have to share your secret to making him go to bed or eat, because I haven't figured it out yet."

The three moved to the door and Dean smiled. "What you do, is you take his books and computer, and you hide them and then make him do something else. He gets mad, he'll mope for a while, but then you get him talking, or watching something, and he opens up, he relaxes, and Sam needs that." He said and opened the door for Jessica. She smiled and then looked over her shoulder to Sam and laughed.

"I'll have to remember that." Sam narrowed his eyes slightly at Dean as he came closer to the door. He was trying to figure his brother out, trying to determine if the man before him was his brother or a shapeshifter. There was something off, and Dean looked tired and a little drawn behind his happy mask.

Dinner was unexpected and Dean weaved a gentle lie that worked. He claimed he was taking a break from grad school, going for his masters in anthropology, and that was all he said. He asked questions about Jessica, about their life together, about classes, about everything, as long as it had something to do with Sam and Jessica and their friends.

Sam tried several times to derail the conversation onto Dean with code words that they had had from childhood. Words that triggered the other and left their company in the dark. Dean said nothing, he didn't give the code words back, he simply listened to Jessica talk, listened to Sam talk about school and he didn't offer anything regarding himself.

Dean knew that Sam was watching him with suspicion and wonder. He heard the code words and he purposefully didn't answer, didn't rise to the bait. This visit was about getting to know the man Sam had become, not dragging him back into the life he hated. So he didn't fall back on their secret language, didn't fall into that trap.

The ach came over him gradually, and before he knew what hit him his head hurt so bad he wanted to double over, but all of the years of hiding injuries from their father kept him upright and focused. When Jessica seemed to have finished the particular conversation she was having with him, he set his beer down on the table and stood, it was time to get out, time to leave before he betrayed himself. Sammy couldn't know. Sammy shouldn't have to carry this burden.

"Well, thanks for inviting me along. I had a good time." He said and pulled on his coat.

Sam perked up. "You're leaving?" Sam didn't want Dean to leave, it was the first time he'd seen his brother in four years, and it felt good to have him back, he hadn't realized that he had been operating with one of his arms tied behind his back for so long.

"Yeah. Gotta get back. Bobby is counting on me to do some stuff for him while I'm on break."

"You're staying with Bobby?"

"Yeah, for a little while." He pulled his keys out of his pocket. "It was great to meet all of you guys. Take care of my little brother for me." He smiled. Jessica stood up.

"Come back soon." She reached around and hugged him. He returned the favor and mumbled.

"My brother did a good job when he picked out a girl to love." She blushed.

"Your brother is a good man."

"I know he is." He let Jessica go and he walked behind Sam and put his hand on his shoulder. A final good bye.

"Your brother is so sweet." Jessica said for the fifth time as they entered their apartment. "Why didn't you tell me about him?"

"He and I had a falling out." He said distantly. "I don't want to talk about it." He said firmly and went into the other room and shut the door

Jessica was taken aback by Sam's abruptness. There were times in which Sam was a complete and total mystery to her. He got sullen, moody, and would take to the bedroom and not come out for hours, and when he did, he was distant, and seemed as if he were living in another world. She sighed and reached into her coat pocket to take out her credit card and ID when she felt something else inside the pocket. She pulled it out and her eyebrows immediately knitted together.

It was an amulet on a leather strap. Where had this come from? Had this fallen off of Dean's wrist when he hugged her?

"Sam?" she asked as she walked to the bedroom. She knocked on the door and repeated," Sam?"

"Not now Jess, please."

"I found something in my pocket that I think you need to look at." The door opened and he stood there confused.

"What?" She held the amulet up and he froze.

"I think this might have fallen off of your brother's wrist when he hugged me, but it was pure luck if it fell into my coat pocket. Is it Dean's?"

Sam licked his lips and swallowed, and then blinked himself back into the real world. "Yeah. Yeah. It's Dean's."

"You better call him and tell him we have it. Don't want him to go looking for it."

"No. No. You're right. Can't have that." He said blinking back tears. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.


	5. Keep Him Safe

It took Sam a day or so to decide what to do. Decide what possibilities were before him, to decipher every single word his brother said at dinner, try to understand the code, to figure out if he was going to go on a hunt that would destroy him, or if it was something else more sinister, something more natural that Sam couldn't fight.

Dean said that he was with their Uncle Bobby, helping him out. That could mean so many things. It could mean, help with a hunt, help with keeping Dad alive, it could mean helping him with the cars, it could mean that Bobby was helping Dean out with something nasty. It could mean all sorts of things. So, as he sat in class, he sketched out a list of possibilities in his notebook. Then he started writing down reasons why that was probable or improbable.

"Mr. Winchester?" he teacher said and startled him in the middle of writing 'Dean could be sick…."

"Sir?"

"What was the technicality that allowed Mr. French to get off?"

"Uhhh….I don't know sir." He said unashamed for the first time since getting to Stanford. "Excuse me sir, I'm not feeling well." He mumbled as the professor watched, no glared at him, and he grabbed his things and flew out of the lecture hall.

The last words that he had written left a bad taste in his mouth. They rang true, they felt right, no matter how wrong the concept. He ran back to his dorm, using speed and agility he hadn't used and hidden since he came to Stanford.

"What's the matter?" Jessica practically screamed as Sam flew into the apartment, and nearly knocked her over in his haste.

"Nothing. I'm fine." He said hurriedly and went into the bedroom and began to search.

"What are you doing?"

"Where's my duffel bag?"

"That ratty old thing?"

"Yeah, my duffel."

"I threw it away. You told me to." She said and put her own book bag down on the floor. "What's the matter Sam?"

"I need to get to South Dakota." She went to him and tried to still his frantic body.

"Slow down Sam. Slow down. What is going on?"

"I have to get to Dean."

"Did he call or something?" she asked confused.

"No. I have to get to him."

"Why? Sam. Stop!" she yelled and his body stilled and she stood in front of him. "What is going on Sam?" She locked her crystal blue eyes onto his scared and frantic hazel.

"Dean needs me."

"If he didn't call how do you know? Did he e-mail you?"

"No. That necklace. I should have known. Should have known." He repeated and headed back to his frantic pace, and went to the closet and grabbed shirts and jeans at random.

"What? Sam. It just fell in my pocket…"

"No. It just didn't fall into a pocket." He said and disappeared into the other room, came back with his book bag and dumped the contents on his bed and started throwing the clothing inside.

"Sam, accidents happen."

"No. That is a necklace, not a bracelet. I didn't see him wearing it while he was here. I didn't see it. It must have been in his hand. He put it in your pocket. He put it there. He was sending me a message. He needs me."

"Sam, it's just a necklace."

Sam stilled at the words and tuned scared angry eyes towards the woman he loved. "You don't understand. My brother never takes it off. Not while he's showering, not while he's sleeping, not while he's with a girl, not while he's hun…." Sam stopped and swallowed. She didn't know about that part of his life, if he could help it she would never know, know that he was tainted by the knowledge that monsters are real and that no one is really safe, that unforeseen evil was just waiting to find its next innocent victim to destroy. No. She could not know that. "I gave him that thing. I gave it to him when we were so poor we didn't have money for a Christmas tree, when we were living in a crap motel room for the holidays. It was the only gift I was ever able to give him, and he holds onto it. He would not just lose it. Trust me Jess. I know my brother, I've been looking up to him since I was four. I know him. There's something wrong. I have to get to him." Sam started for the door and she caught his arm.

"Sam. Wait. Let me go with you."

"No. Jess. No."

"Yes."

"It's family business."

She held out the hand with the engagement ring. "Then that means it's my business. Because in a year, my last name is going to be Winchester. I think that I need to know what is wrong with my brother-in-law. I think I have a right Sam."

"Jessica."

"Don't' you give me that crap Sam." Her eyes were fierce. She jabbed a finger into the center of his chest. "And don't you ever say that something involving your brother or parents, is none of my business. They are going to be my family. And I want to be there to help. I'm going. Let me throw some clothes in a bag and I'll drive us. Ten minutes and we'll be out the door. Just wait." Sam licked his lips. How was he going to explain to her the devil's trap on Bobby's ceiling?

Dean was underneath one of the cars that was lined up waiting to be worked on in the yard. Restoring one 1960s muscle car, had put him on the map of classic car enthusiasts. Bobby was fielding calls left and right looking for the mechanic who could make a classic cherry again. So, here he was under a Chevy and hoping that he could get it done, before the headaches started up again. The headaches were coming more frequently now, and the over the counter stuff wasn't working for as long any more, he was starting to get scared. That's why he went to see Sam, why he left the necklace in his possession. God he missed the weight of it against his chest. He felt almost naked without it, but pretty soon it wouldn't matter, soon he would be ash.

Dean tried not to concentrate on his brother, tried not to dwell on the fact that he wouldn't ever see Sammy again, that Sam may never know he died, well at least not until Bobby told him. So instead of Sam, he concentrated on fixing these cars, worried about getting these cars into pristine condition so bobby could turn them back to their owners for a hefty price. He knew that he wouldn't have too many good days left, and he wanted to make sure that Bobby made a lot of money off of him before he went. Bobby deserved the money; he treated Dean more like a son than his own father did. He wished that he could do more for the guy, but making him money would have to do.

"Where is he?" He heard from the other side of the yard.

"Sam. Just hold on."

"Where is he!?" Dean slid out from underneath the car and stood quickly, almost too quickly, and started towards the sound.

"He's under a car Sam. He's working on a Chevy for me."

"Dean!" He heard Sam yell and he could hear his brother's big feet coming at him. When Sam came into sight, Dean was almost scared. His little brother looked worn, scared and tired.

"What's the matter Sammy?" Dean asked as he wiped the oil and grime off of his hands. He was going to try and stay calm.

"What's wrong Dean?" he asked without preamble as he stopped right in front of his big brother. His eyes immediately did what they were trained to do, check Dean over from head to foot, looking for injuries or possible threats, when none were detected, he went back to looking his brother in the eye.

"What are you talking about little brother?" Dean tried to deflect.

"What is the matter?!" he demanded and held up the amulet that used to reside around Dean's neck. Dean forced his hands to stay away from his neck.

"I wondered where that went." He tried nonchalantly.

"Don't give me that bull shit Dean. What is going on?"

"Sammy. It's just…"

"Now!" Dean shuffled his feet, licked his bottom lip, and looked down. How did you tell the one person that meant most to you in the entire world that you were dying? How? "Dean?"

Dean looked up and sighed. "I'm dying Sam."

Sam's eyes went wide, almost frighteningly so. He swallowed quickly. "There has to be a cure, there has to be an answer. What did the doctor say? You went right? You went to Bobby's friend? He checked you over? You aren't being a stubborn ass and just not doing what he asks, because you don't' want to lose your hair or some such bull shit…right…?"

"They can't do anything Sam. Just can't."

"Well, then we'll find a supernatural means."

"No. We won't."

"There has to be a spell, a protection charm…something. Maybe a faith healer."

"Sammy. Stop."

"There's a way. I'll find it. Bobby!" he called and turned away from his brother.

"Sam!" Dean yelled and jerked him around and met his brother's frantic and scared eyes. "Stop it. There isn't any way to save me. It's the natural order of life Sam. People die. It's my turn."

"You aren't even 30." Sam said softly. "You have so much more to do."

"Maybe not Sammy. Maybe I was just meant to raise you. And I did. My job is done."

Sam licked his lips and a tear escaped his eye. "You are just going to lie down and die?'

Dean's eyebrows raised and he nodded. "It's just my time." And then he saw her, saw Jessica standing behind his brother and he nodded at her, she nodded back, and she suddenly felt like she had just been handed the keys to a car and told to keep it safe.


	6. Talking With Jessica

Sam was most certainly not taking no for an answer. He was scouring Bobby's library, nagging Dean about working on cars for long hours, and making him eat, when he wasn't hungry, making him take pills when he didn't need them, and just being a ball of nerves. Dean ignored him for the most part, smiled, thanked him for the food, threw it out before Sam caught on, then he ate it, and then promptly threw it up, he just couldn't hold down as much as Sam thought he needed.

"I thought you might be hungry." He heard a Jessica say. He rolled out from underneath the car and looked up at her. He wished that people wouldn't try to force feed him so much. He wasn't hungry, and he was tired of throwing up what they forced down throat.

"I'm really not. Sam force fed me a couple of hours ago."

"He's just worried."

"I know he's worried. I'd be doing exactly what he's doing right now if it were him. I'm just not good at people doing this kind of thing for me." He said and sat up. Jessica sat down on the floor in front of him. She put the tray off to the side.

"You'll get those pretty jeans all messed up sitting on the floor." He said absently.

"You worry about other people." She said ignoring his comment. "But you don't worry about yourself."

Dean shrugged. "No need to."

"Sam is scared to death."

"He shouldn't be. He'll be fine. He has you, Bobby, Dad, hell, he's going to be some big time lawyer." She could have sworn she saw Dean's chest puff out like a proud Daddy. "Yeah. Sammy's gonna be fine." Dean sniffed looked down at the tool in his hand and then said, "So, ummm, when I'm gone. Sam can sell the car. It's worth a lot. I've been offered a chunk of change for her. So, when I'm gone, Sammy can sell it. Start your new life together." Dean licked his lips. "I, uh, don't have anything else to give him." She pushed back the tears that threatened.

"Dean. He would rather have you."

"No. He just thinks he does Jessica. He doesn't' need me. He hasn't needed me since he went to college. He's made his life, a good life, a normal life. I just force him to come back to this." He gestured around. "Back to a run down life. A life he doesn't want. Never did. He deserves his lawyer life and you. Once I'm gone. He'll be okay. No worries."

"But Sam worries. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"It means a lot to me, but there isn't anything I can do. I didn't want to tell him what was going on."

"But the necklace."

"I didn't think he'd come running. I just wanted him to have the gift back. I just wanted him to have it. I really didn't think…"

"Maybe you did think. Maybe you did want him to come running."

"I didn't Jessica. I didn't. That's why I came and dressed like a freaking prep, because I didn't want to embarrass him, I didn't want to….I just didn't." He stopped, sighed and started to get up. She grabbed his arm and forced him to sit back down.

"No. You do not get to run off. Not after you've turned Sam into that…that…sad, scared, frantic man."

"I wasn't trying to run….I just…"

"Talk to him."

"God you are one pushy chick."

Jessica smiled. "That's why your brother loves me." Dean smiled. "So, Sam is looking through all of your Uncle's books." Dean inwardly cringed. "What does he think he'll accomplish?"

"That's something you have to ask him."

"He is too busy looking through them, looking for a cure for you. That's all he keeps saying. And like you, he won't eat. I keep bringing food to both of you, and neither of you eat."

"You have to talk to Sam about that."

She sighed. "Then you need to get his head out of a book. I think you are going to be the only one who can stop him. He needs to stop, it isn't good for him."

"Okay. I'll talk to him. Am I allowed to get up now?"

"Yes you may." He got up, closed his eyes, steadied himself against the car. He felt Jessica's hand around his arm. "You okay?"

"I am. I'm okay. Just need a second." He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "Thanks. You are going to be one hell of a sister-in-law."

"You got that right bucko. Come on. Inside. Food. Talk to Sam. In that order."

"Yes ma'am."


	7. True Tale of the Family Winchester

"Hey ya Sammy?" Dean said softly as he entered the living room in which Sam had confiscated in order to do research. Sam didn't' respond to Dean's gentle greeting, so Dean cleared his throat, stepped forward just a pinch, and tried again. "Sammy?" His voice came out stronger, and clearer, yet it didn't stop his little brother from reading, writing notes, and flipping pages. Dean closed his eyes remembering how tenacious he had been as a kid when he got interested in something and he sighed.

Three strides took him to the table, two hands took the book out from under his brother's nose, and one look silenced the protest that was about to come out of Sam's mouth. "You need rest Sam."

"What I need is for you to stay alive."

"Sammy, Mark is an awesome doc, and he's looking into every available medical treatment. It's just too far buried in my head. If they go in and get it, the odds are pretty good that I'll either die or end up a vegetable. I don't' even like to eat vegetables, much less become one."

"But there might be…"

"What? A potion, a tonic, a spell, a magic cure?"

"Yes. There might be."

"And where do you expect that cure to come from? These books?" Dean asked gesturing to the books surrounding his brother.

"There might be a clue."

Dean heaved a great sigh, put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor, gathered his thoughts and then looked dead at his brother. "Okay, say you find something. What if it comes with a price tag, because nothing supernatural comes free of charge."

"We'll deal with that when the time comes."

"Oh. I see." He said and stood straight and crossed his arms. "A soul here or a life there doesn't' matter as long as I live."

"Dean." Sam said and rolled his eyes.

"Sam. Seriously. There is nothing you can do. I'm going to die. That is facts."

"But I don't want you to die."

"Well thanks for that Sammy, but it happens. Death happens. It's a part of life. You can't stop death. It happens to all of us at one point or another."

"But, we, we know things, we know how to stop things like this." Sam said frantically.

"But we also know that those things come with a price, a hefty price tag."

"You would pay that price for me." Dean sighed and licked his lips.

"I want better for you Sammy."

"What?"

"I want better for you. I want you happy. I want you to live your life with that girl in the other room who has dropped all of her classes and put her life on hold so she could follow you down here and look after me while you pour over books, search for something that doesn't exist. I want you to go to law school. By the way I heard about your score on the LSATs. I looked it up. You're in the 99th percentile. I'm proud of you Sammy." He scoffed. "I'm sorry that it took a brain tumor for me to tell you that. But I am. You are brave. So brave. You stood up to Dad. Left us, got the life…"

"I left you, and now you're gonna die." The last word said so faintly Dean barely heard it. Sam blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling. "I lost four years of your life. The last four years of your life. How am I…" He paused, licked his lips, looked away from his brother and finished. "How am I supposed to live with that? How am I supposed to forgive myself?"

Dean's brow furrowed and he shook his head, sat on the edge of the table and looked down at his brother. "Forgive yourself for what Sammy? What could you possibly have to regret?"

"What? You have got to be kidding me?"

"No. I'm not. There is nothing you need to regret. You did what you wanted to with your life. Something I could never do. It's what I always wanted for you, I wanted you to have a better life than I did. Just want you to be happy. And you obviously are. So, close the books, go back to Stanford. You don't need to be here."

"I want to be here. This is where I belong."

"It wasn't where you belonged three weeks ago. And I don't want it to be where you belong three weeks from now."

"What the hell Dean?"

"Sam. You need to finish out the semester. You are all set to graduate this summer."

"To hell with graduation. My brother is dying. That is more important. Family is more important."

"Sam. Don't say things that you don't mean." Sam jumped out of his chair and was in Dean's face before he knew what hit him, Sam's hands fisted in his brother's clothes.

"Don't you dare tell me that I don't mean it. Don't you dare." Sam's voice was cold and dangerous, Dean had seen that menacing look in his eye and heard that tone a hundred times when they fought all of the things that go bump in the night, all of those years ago, before Stanford, before immanent death. Dean was unfazed.

"Sam…"

"Don't. Don't tell me that I don't care what happens to you." Sam shook Dean a little. "I've always cared. I just couldn't live like this. I couldn't watch my big brother take hits for me, couldn't watch him bleed so I wouldn't be the one shot or stabbed or thrown into a bookcase, or shook or strung up or whatever else the freak of the week wanted to do to you. I couldn't do it anymore. Stitching you up hurt. It hurt me." Sam said and licked his lips. He slowly let go of his brother. "I had to go. I just had to." He said in a whisper. "It never meant I stopped caring."

"Sorry Sammy." Dean said after a beat.

"For what?" Dean never got a chance to answer. Jessica cleared her throat and both boys turned and saw her standing there.

"I think I need to be let in on the secrets." She said and folded her arms across her breast.

"Jess…" Sam started.

"Don't give me any of this bull shit I don't want to talk about it Jessica. It's not that big of a deal Jess. It's family business Jess. Need I remind you again, that I am about to be a part of the Winchester family. I need to know what you know." Sam looked down and sighed, shuffled his feet, and then looked at his brother.

"It's your call man. But I think she deserves to know."

"But, what about, we do what we do and we shut up about it?"

"I think this is a time that it is okay to break that rule. That ring on her finger kind of makes it her business."

"What is it Sam? What is going on? What can those old books possibly hold that would help you save Dean?" Sam bit his bottom lip and looked at his fiancé, then back to Dean. Dean nodded, put a hand on his brother's shoulder, smiled and nodded.

"I'm going to go to bed, I'm tired." He said by way of excusing himself and slowly walked away and headed upstairs.

"Jess."

"I want to know." She said undaunted.

"I don't want you to know."

"Too bad. I think this is something that I need to know." She sat down on the chair he had recently vacated and watched him like a hawk, blue eyes alight with determination.

"Jessica…."

"Sam. Don't do this. Just spill it. No matter what you tell me, there is no way that I will ever stop loving you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." He said with a sigh and pulled a chair from the other side of the table and sat down in front of her and began telling her the true tale of the family Winchester.


	8. Deciding the Path

Dusk was beginning to settle over the horizon, and Jessica Moore walked through the crunched cars of Bobby Singer's salvage yard. On one level it intrigued the archaeologist in her, made her want to excavate the ruins that were surrounding her, made her want to forget about a man who was dying who had given his life for his little brother's, and the man she loved who claimed that he spent his entire childhood chasing ghosts and things that went bump in the dark.

The story Sam weaved for her was hard to swallow, hard to believe, and she wouldn't have believed it until he took her on a tour through Bobby's house and showed her the devil's traps, books on the supernatural, and the arsenal of munitions inside the hidden compartment in his brother's car, the car in which he had grown up in, the car that symbolized his brother and all that would be missing if he allowed Dean to die.

He looked at her so expectantly when he finished the story, expecting her to say that it was all good that she still loved him and that she was willing to become the Mary Anne of the Adam's family. In truth, she still did love Sam, and she now understood why they rushed here to be with Dean, when he hadn't mentioned his brother, except in passing, since she knew him, and now she understood why he was always looking over his shoulder and knew the strangest things. However, her love for him didn't make the rest of the insanity go away. They fought monsters. They had been harmed by various monsters, demons, all comers. Would she be at the top of their list now, because she loved Sam, because she wanted to marry him? What happened if they had children? Would they become monster hunters too?

She sighed. This was not how she expected her life to go. She expected to marry Sam, get a house, two and some change children, a dog, maybe a cat, and she expected to live with him until they both grew gray and died. Never once in her ten year plan did she place monster hunting in there, and possibly losing the man she loved to a ghost or a ghoul.

Sam told her that he used to fight these things, that he used to kill them, that he was skilled in multiple weapons, fist fighting, and educated in the finer Latin exorcism rituals. Dean too. Dean continued to fight the monsters after he went to Stanford, fought them until the tumor made it impossible for him to do so. With so much swimming in her head she felt like her head might explode. Running a frustrated hand through her blonde locks she sighed and looked around, and spotted an ancient Pontiac just out in the distance. Its bright blue color acted like a beacon and she went towards it. It was older than she was, and it looked as if it had been through a couple of wars, but it was still standing, it was still fighting for what remained of its life. She reached out and touched it, its metal hot to the touch.

"You into old cars?" The sound startled her and she turned and saw Bobby, the older kind man that offered them the run of his house when they arrived.

"Uhh," she laughed and pulled her hand away from the hot metal. "No. I'm an archaeologist, or will be once I get my degree, and I just wondered what was inside, what kind of history I would find."

"Well it's a 60, so you will probably find some not too pleasant things," Bobby said as he came closer.

"Well, every dig has something unpleasant, every culture has something unsightly, but those things make the culture." Shrugging she looked at the car again and then back to Bobby. "Would I be allowed to get inside of it and look?"

"You can do whatever you wish young lady. It's the first time one of my boys has brought a girl home." Stopping she gave him confused eyes.

"I didn't know that you were their dad. They don't call you dad."

"No. No. I've just known them since they were knee high to a grasshopper."

"Oh." She said and cocked her head to the side. "Where is their father? Sam didn't say he was dead or anything."

"He's just not here. Not sure where he is. I haven't been able to get a hold of him."

"But Dean…."

"He doesn't know about Dean."

Jessica starred at the older man incredulously. "What do you mean he doesn't know about Dean?"

"Dean won't tell him. Hell, I doubt Dean knows where exactly he is right now."

"But…but…he's their father. Dean needs him." She paused and shook her head. "Hell Sam needs him. Sam needs someone to…to…"

"Make him sleep, eat, and actually spend time with his brother before he dies?"

"Yeah."

"Look in the mirror young lady. That's your job."

"But…" She swallowed, and brushed hair out of her face.

"Sam told you about what they do?"

"Yeah, he did."

"And you aren't sure you want to stay with him." Jessica couldn't find a response inside of her, when put like that, it sounded bad, like she was doing something wrong.

"No, I'm not sure. I don't know if I can live like that. If he picks up hunting again…I don't know if I'm like an army wife, don't know if I can just wait by the front door hoping that my man comes home safely from the war. I don't know if I'm that girl."

"He must think you are."

"I don't think I'm strong enough for this life."

"Yougin' this life doesn't care if you are strong enough, young enough, tall enough, short enough or whatever, it happens to you and you either take it and crawl into a hole and die of fear, or you take it and you make the best lemonade that you possibly can, and you go out there and fight for your right to live, for other's right to live. Sam and Dean are two of the good hunters in the world. They don't just fight for themselves or their momma, they fight because they can't stand the idea of someone else having to live through what they've had to endure."

"But I want to be able to have a family."

"So does Sam. What is there to stop you?" She scoffed and threw her hands up in the air and then landed firmly on her narrow hips.

"What's to stop us? Oh I don't know…maybe demons, ghosts and whatever else comes knocking. How can I protect my children when I can't always see the threat?"

"There are ways. Sam knows them, I know them. There are ways my dear. You just have to be willing to learn the ways of protecting yourself and your children. And knowledge is half of the battle."

Jessica thought about his words for a moment while she chewed on her lip. She finally said in a small voice, "I'm scared. I'm sort of scared of Sam."

"That is one thing in this world that you shouldn't be afraid of. He is the best kind of people. Him and his stubborn ass brother both, and he's about to lose the one person in his life that is most important. He's about to lose his brother, father, idol, everything. He doesn't deserve to lose all of that and you. Think about that sweetheart, before you do something stupid. Before you ruin the best think that you will ever have." Bobby nodded to Jessica and walked by her resting a hand on her shoulder momentarily.

Jessica spent the rest of the sunlight thinking about Bobby's words, how much she loved Sam, how scared she was, and running tentative future scenarios in her head before she cam to a conclusion. She headed back into the rickety old home to find Sam, on the floor, books surrounding him, looking for something, anything to cure his brother.

"Sam?" He turned sharply and quickly.

"You leaving?"

"No. I'm staying."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. I want to try this before I say no."

"But you aren't saying yes."

"No. I'm saying we'll wait and see."

"I can live with that."

"Good." She looked at all of the books that were surrounding him and she sighed. "Point me in a direction, tell me what to look for and I'll get my research on and help." He gave a small weak smile.

"That pile over there. Anything that talks about curing an ailment."

"Okay." She said and retrieved a book, sat next to Sam, and made sure to allow her shoulder to touch his. Bobby was right, now was most certainly not the time be giving Sam grief.


	9. Talk

After at least two hours of sitting and reading dry tome after dry tome, she looked up at the love of her life and bumped his shoulder.

"You should go up there and check on your brother," she said in her soft and gentle manner.

"No time. I have to find the answer."

"Well, sweetie, while you are finding your answer, he is dying up there. You are losing the last moments of his life."

"They aren't going to be the last moments of his life. I will find the answer, I will save him." She sighed and grabbed his face and turned it to her.

"But on the off chance that you can't. You will have lost every opportunity to spend time with him."

"I can save him." He repeated with determination and sadness. "There is a way I know there is."

Frustration got the better of her. When he studied he became obsessive, that was the reason he had the top grades, and the reason he scored so high on his LSATs. Never, had she expected him to become so single minded as to not see the danger spending the last possible coherent days Dean had left, researching instead of talking with him. She grabbed the book out from under his nose and yelled, "Stop Sam. Stop." He looked at her, confusion clearly etched into the hazel eyes.

"Jess?"

"Go up there. His mind won't be sound forever. Enjoy the time, when he sleeps, research, I'll be down here, I'll be looking, Bobby has been looking, been on the phone all day. Go. Spend time with Dean." She said the last more gentle than she started.

Sam looked at her, saw the love and warmth in her eyes and melted around the edges. To be honest he didn't know what to say to his brother anymore. He and Dean had changed a lot in the time he had been gone. What if Dean didn't love him anymore, what if he didn't really want him around anymore? So many things had been left unsaid when he left for Stanford, the silence had been long and unbroken for so long, that it felt like there was no way he could cross over the chasm between him and his brother. He looked down and then back up quickly, licked his lips and admitted, "I'm scared."

"Oh Sam," she said on the brink of tears. She brushed hair off of his forehead. "Go. Go talk to him, I don't think there is anything you need to be afraid of." She nudged him again and he finally got up and slowly trudged up the stair case and stood in front of the room he and Dean used to share, all of those years ago, a lifetime ago.

"I can hear you breathing out there Sammy. Come on in." Sam shifted on his feet and finally opened the door. Dean was lying stretched out on the bed, headphones discarded next to him. "You find the answer yet?" he asked. Dean's eyes were glassy, his face taught, and he was pale.

"You feeling okay?"

"Got a brain tumor Sammy. Of course I'm just peachy." Sam sighed at his brother's sarcasm and sat down on the bed closer to the window, the one he slept in next to his brother many many nights when Dad was gone, and things were scary. His big brother was always right next to him protecting him, and now, when his big brother needed protecting, Sam wasn't able to do it, wasn't able to save him, like Dean had saved him all of those times.

Sam was at a loss for words, it had been such a long time since they had conversed that he didn't seem to remember how. "You seen the new Grudge movie?" Dean asked breaking the ice.

"Yeah. Jess and I went to see it. Did you go?"

"Naw. Wanted to. But didn't get a chance. Busy with hunts."

"You and Dad?"

"No. Just me. Dad's been sort of farming me out. I haven't heard from him in a while though. I think he's figured that I've found my own hunts."

"You've been hunting alone?"

"Yeah."

"For how long?"

Dean shrugged. "Probably about a year."

"Alone."

"Sammy, I am a big boy now."

"But you always said that it was safer to hunt in pairs."

"It is. But you do what you gotta do," he said with a shrug and covered his eyes with his hand.

"The light bothering you?" Sam asked softly.

"Yeah it is." Sam stood and turned off the light, and closed the drapes and the room fell into darkness.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"No problem."

"When are you and Jessica going back to Stanford?"

"When we get you better."

"But, Sammy, if I don't get better-"

"Don't."

"It's a real possibility."

"No. It isn't."

"Everyone dies Sammy."

"Not you."

"Even me, eventually. When your time is up it's up. And it looks like I'm going to be punching my time clock here really soon." The room fell into silence. Sam refusing to believe his brother's words and Dean thinking about the road ahead, and what it will be like. "I don't want you to see it Sammy," he finally said. "I don't want you to see me reduced to someone who needs to be put into a nursing home. I just don't want that. Go on back to your life at Stanford. I shouldn't have bothered you two."

"How can you say that?"

"Not hard. I should have just died, and let you and Jess have your life. I was just selfish, I just wanted to check on you and see you one last time before the end. I didn't mean," he paused. "I didn't want you to leave your life. I didn't mean for you to drop everything and come."

"I'm your brother."

"And I'm yours. That will never change Sam."

"If you had died and didn't even let me know you were sick, I could never have forgiven myself Dean."

Dean sighed, wishing that he had made other choices, that he had been like a dog and gone somewhere far away and remote and waited for death, but when it got right down to it, Dean Winchester wasn't that brave, and looking at the thick shadow that was his brother he knew. Knew that he needed that boy here, needed him to be here when the end came, and something in his gut said that the end was closer than he thought.


	10. Pain

AN: I don't know much about the medical aspect of this, so I am just trying to focus on the basic ideas. I apologize for getting anything wrong.

* * *

The cycle of researching and late nights didn't end. Sam hardly moved from the kitchen table, and only did so when Dean came by and put a hand on his shoulder, closed the book in front of him and encouraged him to go with him on a walk through the junk yard or to sit and watch television with him, go target shooting, anything just to get the kid to spend time with him just for a little bit.

As the weeks went by, Dean came less and less frequently into the kitchen to pick on Bobby's cooking, to get Sam to stop researching and move around, make sure that his legs still worked. It became Jessica's duty to go upstairs and check on Dean, she was the one who would go up and encourage him to get up and eat, to take his medication, to go to the bathroom, to get out of the room, to be social. Dean was becoming thinner, and at times incoherent, and disoriented. It was starting to scare her, and she knew it was scaring Sam and Bobby, because they immediately began researching round the clock, and cell phones, house phones and everything that was a method communication was being utilized and quickly.

Mark came by, at Bobby's request, and saw to Dean for a little while and came out and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, which only made Sam tense up, and his eyes that had been frantic turned wild, and at times, those wild eyes dripped tears onto the books he was studying.

After Mark's visit Dean spent several days in bed, too tired to get up and do anything productive, and Jessica was the one who came up and down the stairs and made sure Dean got something in his stomach, and woke him long enough to go to the bathroom, opened the curtains and had the sunshine shine over Dean's pale features.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked on one of her many trips, scaring her. He had been silent so frequently, not even a snore or a snort, or the sounds of rustling had come from the bed. There had been points in the last couple of days that she had taken the mirror from her compact and put it underneath his nose to be sure that he was still breathing, and each time she prayed with all of her might that he was still living, because she had no idea how she was going to tell Sam if it turned out that he had passed away with no one by his side. "Didn't mean to startle you." He said and sat up.

She took her hand away from her chest and gave him a smile, pushed her hair away from her face and sat down in the chair next to his bed. "He's downstairs researching,"

"Ahhh." He swallowed thickly, and she reached over to the beside table and filled up a cup with lukewarm water and handed it to him.

"If you want it cold, I'll go down and get some ice if you want," she said as she watched Dean drink the water greedily.

"No. I'm good," he said with the last bit of the cup's contents drained. "Thank you." He handed her the cup and she took it and set it back down on the table. "How long have I been out?" He struggled to get himself in a more comfortable position and she offered a hand and he waved her away.

"About three days. You've been up to eat and go to the bathroom, but otherwise, you've been sleeping pretty steadily. You feeling okay?"

"Yeah. Just foggy. I think the new meds that Mark put me on is making me tired."

"Mark put you on new medication?" She asked confused.

"Yeah, when he came."

"I didn't know."

"I didn't tell anyone."

"What is it for?"

"Pain." He said not able to look her in the eye.

"You haven't said anything."

He shrugged his shoulders. "No need."

"There is a need Dean. There are people down here that love you."

"Why do you care so much Jessica?"

"Because…you're going to be my brother."

"But, Jessica, I'm no one to you. I'm…"

"You're the brother that Sam idolizes."

"Sam doesn't idolize me."

"He does. And he's down there working so hard, so hard to find a way to save you. He's scared."

"He'll be fine without me. He's a strong kid. I made sure of that. He'll be fine. He has you." Dean said and readjusted himself again on the bed. "You are just what my brother needs."

"He needs you too."

"No. I'm his past. You are his future. He needs to look your way not mine. He'll stay safe that way, he'll…." Dean drifted back to sleep and Jessica sighed.

"How is he?" Sam asked without looking up when she came down the stairs.

"He was awake long enough to drink a cup of water. Mark put him on new pain meds and that's why he's been sleeping so much."

"Pain?" Bobby asked as he entered the living room.

"Yeah. Apparently he's been in more pain then he's been telling us."

"Stupid kid." Bobby said and his eyes looked tired and worried.

"I think we're reaching the end guys." Jessica said finally.

"No!" Sam yelled and stood. "No! My brother isn't dying!" he yelled and began to rant and rave and scream.

"Sammy." Dean said from the bottom of the stairs, hand holding onto the railing, his sweat pants sagging from his lessened physique. His tired, watery green eyes focused on his taller younger brother. Sam stopped speaking and hurried to his brother.

"Dean. Dean you should be in bed." Sam's wide hands gripped Dean's shoulders, shoulders that had shrunken and become thinner than he ever remembered his brother's shoulders to be.

"I'm good Sammy." He said and shrugged off his brother's hands. "I'm good." He repeated and looked at the assembled group of people.

"Sam. Stop. Just stop looking. I'm not going to know what's going on here soon. Mark thinks that it is getting bigger, I wouldn't let him take me to have a scan,"

"Dean….if he thinks…"

"Just wants to see it's growth. It's going to kill me no matter what. I…I…Sam…I want to spend my last couple of coherent days with you, bobby and Jessica, I want to just enjoy the end of my days. When I go, when my mind goes, you can continue with whatever you are doing. I'm going to quit taking the pain meds."

"No. No You can't." Sam said frantically.

"I am. I want to spend my last days knowing what is going on. And I want to be clear. I don't want to sleep the rest of my life away. So, what do you say Sammy?" Dean's eyes were earnest and sad. "Please Sammy."

Sam looked back to Bobby and Jessica, willing them to tell him what to do. Jessica nodded, and Bobby did as well. Sam turned back to his brother, and Dean gave a slight smile and a nod. "Please Sammy." Sam licked his lips and nodded, trying to keep the tears from his eyes and praying that God would send a miracle and save his brother.


	11. Near

The days weren't long enough. Sam would sit outside on the front porch with his brother and they would talk and talk and talk, sometimes from the time the sun came up until the sun went to bed, the two brothers would sit and talk about old times, times they had had apart, and they would talk about their dad. It didn't seem to matter, and if they fell into silence, that was all right as well. Jessica would come out on those days and sit with them for an hour or so, never staying so long as to intrude on their private time, but long enough that she was able to get to know, even if just a little, the man that her soon to be husband revered more than some revered their greatest childhood hero. Because for Sam, Dean was his childhood hero, and unlike most children, Sam could boast that his brother had saved lives, had helped people, and had done more for people than the entire Marvel community had or could do in all of the comic books, television shows, and movies combined.

She understood more about Sam by listening to Dean, than she had ever understood by being around Sam, listening to him, and living with him. She knew that when Dean died, something would die inside of Sam. And one afternoon while Sam was in the bathroom, Dean pulled her in and whispered, "Please take care of him. Don't let him do anything stupid. If he wants to hunt, I know this is a lot to ask, but if he does, please go with him, make sure he doesn't do anything suicidal. Make him understand that this stuff just happens, that I've always loved him and I always will."

"You should tell him that."

"Nah." Dean said as he pulled back and rested his head against the back of the chair. "If I said that to him he'd think I was on death's door."

Jessica's brows knitted together in confusion. He laughed. "I know. I am on death's door. But Sammy doesn't think so. Doesn't' think I'll truly die. I guess he doesn't think I'm human, and it's going to be a shock to his system when he realizes I am." Sam came out at that moment and the two of them never got another chance to revisit the conversation.

Bobby on the other hand, was on the receiving end of more instructions than he knew what to do with. At one point he would go to bed and write down everything Dean had told him, just so he didn't forget.

He told Bobby everything from how to fix the Impala, Dean apparently had made improvements that he didn't think would be easily figured out, to what to do with his body, because Sam wouldn't be in the right frame of mind to salt and burn him—Bobby would have to do that. He told Bobby to give all of his clothes away, let Sam have the leather jacket if he wanted it, and make sure Sam got his hunter's notebook, and the car. After he gave Bobby that particular information, he sort of chuckled to himself and mumbled "25 years of life and all I have to give my brother is a car and a jacket." He shook his head and sighed and before Bobby could protest and say that he had given Sam far more than that he went inside the house and made noises at Jessica in which complimented her cooking.

The good days didn't last much longer. It started gradually. All of them would be perched on ancient couches that had seen much better years, and watching an older than God television, and watching a movie, when Dean would ask what had just happened. He couldn't remember from one commercial break to the next, and everyone tried to pretend they didn't notice, but they did, and it left all three of them with a lead weight in the pits of their stomachs. They were losing their friend, brother, and son, and none of them knew what to do, how to help, or who to call. Bobby had secretly called John and gotten no response, Sam had called, gotten no response, and even Jessica had called and left a long, not exactly pleasant, voice mail on the man's phone. Yet he never came, and Dean got worse and worse.

They called Mark, one afternoon, when Dean had gotten completely lost in the junk yard, and had been reduced to sitting on the ground screaming for someone to find him, and once Sam found him, Dean didn't recognize his brother and completely panicked and tried to fight him off, but in his weakened state, Sam was able to deflect the once powerful arms, and the once lethal legs, and throw him over his shoulder and put him in bed. Mark came, delivered the not so pleasant news, and administered morphine, and made sure Dean was asleep. The end was near, and it was time to get cracking, Sam opened a book, and began searching again, more frantically than before, and more determined. Dean. Would. Not. Die.


	12. Empty

**AN: The worst is going to happen. For a while, I was going to write two endings to this story, and I realized I had to stay true to my story line. I apologize to all who have been reading this religiously and now won't be able to enjoy the last few chapters, but I had to stay true to myself when I wrote this, and this how I saw it going. Again, to those who won't read further, I am sorry for stringing you along. Stacey.**

* * *

Dean's body just simply wouldn't give out, his mind on the other hand, was beyond gone, and it took several calls to Mark to have him come and put a feeding tube in Dean, and to insert a catheter which he showed Jessica how to take care of and clean. Sam didn't move, hardly ate, and didn't rest, he continued to look through books, continued to try and save his brother. And he was finding absolutely nothing. Short of him selling his soul there wasn't anything he could do.

"That's what I'll have to do." Sam mumbled and stood and grabbed his coat. Jessica was coming down the stairs as Sam was getting ready to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"Going to save Dean." His eyes were lifeless and scared, and there were dark smudges underneath the hazel. She knew he wasn't sleeping, she wasn't getting much sleep herself anymore either. She spent most night with her head on Dean's bed resting while he was resting.

"You found a cure?" she asked hopeful.

"It's an answer." His voice was dark and grave.

"What does that mean?"

"It is an answer," he repeated.

"Dean said that all 'answers' came with a price tag. What is the price tag Sam?"

"Not much."

"Sam."

"Jess, don't worry."

"I don't trust you."

"What?"

"This frame of mind you are in, I don't trust you."

"Jess…"

"What are you going to do Sam?" He licked his lips and looked anywhere but into his fiancé's eyes.

"He's going to go to a crossroads, aren't you Sam?" Bobby asked from the doorway, looking equally as haggard as the other two.

"Bobby…"

"Don't even try lying to me you idjit. If you don't' want people to know what you are doing then don't leave your books open to the section talking about crossroads. Your brother would be furious."

"What is the significance of a crossroads?" Jessica asked.

"But it would save him."

"At the cost of your soul."

"Your soul?" Jessica asked frantically.

"I'd get ten years to figure out how to get out of it."

"Ten years? What?" Jessica asked.

"But what if you couldn't figure it out in those ten years Sam? What then? You just drop dead and your brother is left to feel miserable and guilty for the rest of his life."

"I'd figure a way out. Just like I figured this out."

"Sam, this isn't a solution. I won't allow it."

"You aren't my father."

"No, damnit, I'm not. But your daddy doesn't seem to feel the need to be here right now, and the other parent you got is up there in the bedroom dying. So I think I'm the next step, and I say you are not selling your soul!"

"Selling your soul?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO TALKING ABOUT!?" Jessica finally screamed. Both men turned to her, rage evident in both sets of eyes.

"You boyfriend here thinks that he can get away with selling his soul to a demon in exchange for his brother's health, and once that's done he's going to spend the next ten years trying to get out of it."

Jessica's eyes burned, she was exhausted, and now she was terrified. Once, not too long ago, she would have listened and laughed, it sounded so absurd, but now she knew, and understood that this was a real possibility.

"No. Let him die Sam…."

"What? Let him die?! He's my brother!" He couldn't believe that she was turning on him. "How can you say that to me?! How? I can't let my brother die! It's just my soul. What does it matter?"

"When you sell your soul where will you go Sam?" she asked quietly.

"Hell," he shrugged. "I guess."

"Hell. Then if you go to Hell, Dean, Bobby and I can't be with you when we die. Sam. That's not what Dean would want. He would want you to let him die."

Sam's eyes misted over with tears. "I can't Jess. I can't. He…I…I…" She reached around and hugged him.

"There has to be either another way, or you have to just let him go. Let him go to heaven. Let him be at peace."

Sam broke down, sleep deprivation wore down his emotional barriers and made the tears flow easier. He hugged her so tight that she thought for a moment that he might bruise her, but if the pain he was inadvertently inflicting upon her was only a taste of the pain he was feeling, then it was the least she could do. They stood like that for an eternity with Sam crying and hugging her when he finally asked, "But who's going to watch my back when he's gone?"

"I'll do that." She said.

"When he's gone, there isn't anyone left."

"Your dad…" He laughed a bitter laugh through his tears.

"Yeah, because he's so right here right now. Dean's been my father most of my life. He's the one that matters." Sam said and wiped his eyes. Jessica looked at him, hurting in her gut as she watched the man she loved try to control his emotions. "I think I'm going to go up and check on him." She nodded as did Bobby.

Sam trudged up the stairs, heart heavy. He pushed through the door and his emotions into his brother's room. He was thin, pale, and there wasn't anyone home. He could feel it. Dean was already gone, his body just didn't' have the sense to stop. Sam took the seat that Jessica normally occupied and just watched his brother breathe in and out, in and out, and slowly he opened his eyes, looked at Sam, absolutely no recognition in the green orbs. It made his throat close up and tears flow down his face again.

"Dean." Sam said with tears falling from his chin. Dean's unknowing eyes opened a touch wider, and his breaths became shallower, and as the moments progressed, there were fewer, and fewer until everything stopped. Dean's eyes remained open and no life resided within them. "Oh god Dean." He said and shook him. "Dean. No. Please. No." He put his head down on his brother's chest, and began to sob. His sobs summoned the rest of the little group and they all ran up the stairs and found Sam sobbing on his dead brother's chest. Jessica put a hand to her mouth and turned to Bobby and put her face inside his sweat shirt. Bobby wrapped his arms around the shattered girl. The room was empty now.


	13. Family Drama

After hours of sitting beside Dean, Sam got up and went downstairs and starred at the only two people left in his life and said. "We have to take care of him."

"Which funeral home do you need me to call?" Jessica asked jumping at the opportunity to be useful.

"Sweetie, we don't do funeral homes. We have to build his pyre." Bobby said with a hand on her shoulder.

"What?"

"We have to salt and burn him." Bobby supplied.

"Salt and burn him? You mean send him to a crematorium?"

"No. We do it ourselves." Bobby said. "It's a hunter's funeral. It's our way."

"Can't let Dean get possessed by something." Sam said softly.

"Possessed?"

"Demons can possess corpses, Dean's a corpse." Sam choked on the last word. Tears came down his face. Jessica went to him, and he continued. "He could be turned into a zombie." His voice quivered with each word. "His spirit could roam the earth." More tears trailed down his face. "And then he could end up being something I would hunt. I can't have that Jess. I can't have it." She gathered him in a hug and the tears started afresh again.

"Do you just want me and Bobby to take care of it?"

"No." The sobs turned off almost like a faucet. "No. No. I need to do this for Dean. I have to do this for him."

"Okay, okay," she said with worry laced through her voice. She had seen Sam upset, but she had never seen anyone quite this far gone after a loved one's death.

"We'll work on it today and have it done by tonight, son." Bobby said and both men nodded.

"Want me to get him cleaned up?" Jessica asked. Sam looked at her and then to Bobby, and fidgeted.

"I don't think he can have you do that young lady. Why don't you come with me and help me build the actual pyre." She nodded and ran her hand down the length of Sam's arm. The trio separated ways, two to go build the funeral pyre and one to prepare the body. None of them was prepared for the next couple of hours.

Jessica was behind the house gathering wood when she heard a monster of an engine rumble into the driveway. She came out from the back to see Bobby stalking towards the truck, and a tall man emerged from the truck.

"Where have you been you son of a bitch?!" Bobby yelled as he closed the distance.

"Finishing a hunt? What the hell kind of answer is that?!"

"You know you don't leave a hunt in the middle." He said coolly. "The boys know that as well."

"Well, your boy is up there, and he ain't gonna understand it."

"Dean will talk some sense into him."

"Dean died last night."

"What?!"

"Dean died last night." Bobby repeated. The taller man hurried into the house, Bobby and Jessica hot on his heels.

"Sam!" John bellowed from the doorway. Silence greeted him. "Samuel Winchester! Get your ass down here." He was receiving no answer and it was infuriating him, and just as he was about to mount the stairs Sam appeared at the top.

"What do you want?" Sam asked coolly.

"What the hell happened?"

"Dean died last night."

"That's not right."

"It is. Where were you when I called you weeks ago?"

"I was in the middle of a…"

"Just forget it John." Sam said purposefully digging at his father.

"I am your father."

"No. Not anymore."

"Sam.."

"Just go away."

"I want to see Dean."

"No."

"What did you say young man?"

Sam took a few steps down the stairs and said "No."

"He's my son."

"No, he was your soldier. And he's gone now. So you can leave him alone."

"Where do you get off saying something like that? I love him…"

"If you loved him. You would have been here to see him."

"If you loved him, you would have saved him." Sam couldn't believe his ears. The words stung like white hot pokers being laid against his flesh, and before Sam knew what he was about he flew down the stairs and tackled his father to the ground, his added height and fury making it easy for him to keep his father down.

"How dare you say that to me!?" Sam's voice cracked with rage and pain. "I've been here for over two months, trying everything I knew how, to save him. I watched him die. I did! I called you. I sucked up my pride and I called you fifteen times, I tried to get you to help. I called everyone we know, I did everything I knew how to. I couldn't save him. I tried. And you don't get to say things like that to me."

"Sam stop." Bobby yelled and grabbed the boy's shoulders. "You can't go pounding your dad's head into the ground Sam. You can't. Sam looked down at his father whose head he had been pounding into the floor and saw the disorientation.

"Get out of here. We don't need you. I don't need you. Better yet. I don't want you." And with that Sam got off of his father, and trudged back up the stairs to take care of his brother.


	14. Missed

Jessica watched the scene like she was watching some horrible train wreck that she couldn't stop nor look away from. She watched the man she loved pound his father's head into the hard wood floor, and she saw the rage, she saw the hate burning in his eyes. She had been with Sam for close to two and a half years, he hardly ever swore, his anger was never so hot that it could scold a person, and hate was an emotion, that until today, she would have said that he wasn't capable of feeling.

Sam disappeared up the stairs and into his brother's room. Jessica starred after him in shock, fear, and amazement. When she was finally able to function again she pulled her eyes from the top of the stair case where her fiancé had disappeared, and looked down at John Winchester. When he arrived she had been slightly afraid, her female senses registering that this man was dangerous, he was someone who could kill you without a breath of notice, but now when she looked at him, she saw a broken man, a barely competent man, and someone who was grieving. Neither she, nor Bobby, extended a hand to help him to his feet, and they both knew that the offered help would send him into a fit of rage. It took John several minutes to get himself vertical, and he had to hold onto the banister to keep his balance, but he was up. He took a fortifying breath and that was when Jessica realized that he was going to head up the stairs, she suddenly feared for his safety. Because if Sam gave him that kind of beating for just saying he wanted to see Dean, then surly Sam would kill him for defying him and doing what he wished anyway. Her stomach tingled and she was just about to say something to stop him, convince him that he shouldn't when Bobby put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away from the stairs.

"I don't' think that would be such a good idea John." Bobby said softly.

"My son is up there."

"Both of them are. And the live one is just about ready to explode. He'll kill you Johnny. You best go outside, sit on the porch." John gave his long time friend a glare but he was old enough and wise enough to know when someone else was right and when you should take the advice that was given to you. Reluctantly he turned from Bobby and stalked off towards the front door, and the slam that resulted rattled the windows in the house. Jessica gave nervous eyes to Bobby and then to the door. Bobby sighed and shook his head and headed into the kitchen.

She went up the stairs, expecting to go into the bedroom where Dean took his final breath and ask her man if he needed anything, if he needed help, if he needed a drink, but when she got up there, the scene before her shocked her into silence.

The big man, who only minutes ago had bashed his father's head into the floor, was sitting on the bed, as softly as possible, running a wet cloth over his brother's dead face. Dean's eyes were closed, but his jaw would not be closed so easily.

"Dean, Dad came back. He finally came back, and it was too late. I know you respect him, I know you think his orders and the way he does things makes sense. But I couldn't let him come up here. I couldn't let him see you, say he was sorry, and know that your soul would forgive him. I just can't do it Dean. I called him fifteen times in the last two weeks, and I know I called him a couple of times before that. Bobby called almost as often as I did. I even caught Jessica calling and leaving voice mail for him. He doesn't deserve to be here." Sam said the last and his voice hitched. Jessica turned from the scene and went back down the stairs and straight out of the door and found John Winchester sitting on the porch.

"Where have you been for the last two months?" she asked softly.

"Business little girl."

"I'm not a little girl, and if that is code for hunt…"

"What do you know about hunting?"

"It has been explained to me."

"Sam had no right…"

"I made him. I needed to know what was going on."

"Sam never was one who knew how to follow orders."

Jessica sighed. "You are making it incredibly difficult for me to feel sorry for you."

John turned on her eyes on fire with anger. "You feel sorry for me?" he said and stood up. She didn't back down.

"Yeah. You missed the last months of your son's life. He was a good man." She said and crossed her arms over her chest. "A very good man. Loving, caring, selfless. He wanted so much better for Sam, because Sam, in his mind, deserved it, deserved everything life had to offer. Dean didn't' want him to be a hunter, didn't want him to lead the life that Dean led." She crossed her arms tighter around herself gave a snort. "He worried about everyone. Even when he was dying. He worried. The last couple of weeks before his mind started to go, he had a headache the size of King Kong, but he didn't complain, we wouldn't have known if it hadn't been for how glassy and pain filled his eyes were. But you know what, even through all of that pain, he was still worried about others. We were watching a movie, I think Sam went to go get salt for the popcorn, and it was just me and Dean on the couch and I shivered, it was just getting cold in the house, and he offered me the blanket that we had covered him up with earlier, he wanted to make sure I was okay. He just wanted to make sure everyone was okay. And you didn't get to be here and see him, get to be here and know your son. I feel bad for you. You missed a lot John Winchester. And that is why I feel sorry for you. Now I'm going to go talk to Sam. I'm going to explain to him that even though you are a son of a bitch, you are still Dean's father, and that Dean, because he loved his family so much and for whatever reason respected you, would want you at his funeral. I'm going to do that for you, because that is what Dean would have done for you. Remember that." Jessica turned and went back into the house and the screen door slammed in her wake.

Bobby, who heard the whole thing from the kitchen window, smiled and sighed. Jessica was going to make a good hunter's wife, and Bobby wondered if somehow, Dean knew that, and had encourage Sam to tell her about the life for just that reason. A twinge hit his stomach hard. He would never know, Dean wasn't around to ask any longer. The gruff junk yard man wiped tears from his eyes and forced himself back to the task at hand.


	15. Name

Jessica made her way up the stairs, she fortified herself at the top, she had never seen anyone dead outside of a funeral home, and she was unsure of what she would see when she entered the room. The door was cracked, and she knocked. "Go away." Sam said.

"It's me baby." She said from the crack in the doorway.

"Jess. Just…"

"You don't get a say," she said with more confidence than she felt. She pushed the door open, and found Sam, sitting by his brother's bed, wash cloth in hand.

"Jess, not now." Jessica came up behind him, put an arm around his shoulder.

"Sam. Now is the only time we have." Her voice was gentle and she knelt down next to him as she spoke.

"I don't want to talk about my father." The anger was definitely slipping from his voice, sadness was taking over, it broke her heart to hear it.

"You have to."

"I don't want to."

"He needs to be at the funeral."

"He doesn't deserve to be at Dean's funeral. He ditched him, didn't come when we needed him to come, when he could have seen Dean. Do you have any idea just how happy it would have made Dean to see Dad?"

"I would assume a lot. He talked about your dad a lot."

"He idolized the man, acted like he was some kind of god. He couldn't even come when I begged. Couldn't come when any of us begged. Why? Because he was on a hunt, and God knows you can't just skip out on a hunt, innocent people we don't even know might die. But it's okay to ditch the kid who has loved you unconditionally his whole life."

"Sam. Dean would want…"

"I know what Dean would want." He said as he looked at his brother's corpse. "I know he would say "Sammy, come on, it's Dad. He deserves to be here just as much as anyone else. Be nice. Can't you just not argue with him for once?" Yeah, I can hear him. I know exactly what my big brother would say."

"Then don't you think we should honor it? Don't you think that we shouldn't make this so complicated for your dad? He needs to be there, for Dean. Think of it that way. It's not about your dad. It's about Dean." Sam just starred at the corpse of his brother and tears started afresh.

"He taught me everything. How to ride a bike, how to tie my shoes, how to ask a girl on a date. He did everything for me Jess. And how did I repay the favor? Huh? I couldn't even save him when he needed it. He saved me all of the time. And I couldn't even do that much."

"Sam, I doubt he's angry with you."

"No, Dean's not angry. He expected to die. Dean expected people to fail him, and I just fulfilled his expectations." Jessica stood and wrapped her arms around his neck and starred at Dean along with the love of her life. Dean, thinner than he had been when she met him, eyes closed, naked, hands over the important part, he looked so peaceful, so at rest. His face wasn't a mask of pain lines, he wasn't flinching, he wasn't talking nonsense. Dean Winchester was free from all of that. She hugged Sam tighter.

"He's in a better place Sam."

Sam snorted. "Whatever." He leaned forward and continued to wipe his brother's body with the wet cloth. "Tell Dad, that he can come. Just keep him away from me Jessica, just keep him the hell away from me." Jessica nodded, caressed his shoulders and left the brothers together for the final time.

She went back outside and she stood as far away from John as possible, crossed her arms and said, "Sam said you can come."

"Sam doesn't tell me what I can and can't do."

"Yeah, I think he does. He's been here the entire time. He's the next of kin…"

"I'm Dean's father."

"I don't care if you're the pope, Mr. Winchester, you weren't the one here for the last few months watching Dean die. You don't get the right to dictate anything here. Sam is honoring Dean's wishes. You can come. Just stay away from me and Sam." John Winchester began to yell at her, and she didn't hear a word, she went straight back into the house. John Winchester was a bully and she didn't like bullies. And despite what she said to Sam, she didn't want him there any more than Sam did. John Winchester failed Dean, and to Jessica, that was unacceptable.

Sam was the one to throw the match on his brother's body, and as they watched it burn, tears were in a constant flow down his face. Jessica, who stood in between Bobby and Sam, pulled them both to her and the three formed a unit, and left John on the outskirts watching his eldest burn.

Jessica felt Sam begin to shake, and she began, "Our Father, who art in Heaven…" Dean needed a payer, and she wished she knew one for the dead, but that was the only one she could remember, and she hoped, that today, when they were sending a man who had helped so many and was remembered by so few, to the other side that God was watching and opening his arms and accepting Dean Winchester inside the gates of His kingdom.

"It's no use Jess, God doesn't listen to us." Sam mumbled. She grabbed his hand, held it tight, Dean's ring, that now resided on Sam's right hand, digging into her.

"God listens to everyone Sam." She said softly.

Sam's eyes grew dark, his voice low and said, "Not if your name is Winchester."


	16. Leaving

Bobby and Jessica eventually strayed away from the pyre, allowing the two Winchester men to have their private moment with the remains of the man they had loved, one with a burning intensity, and one with a cold distance. Jessica dissolved into Bobby's arms once they reached the porch to the old man's house.

"I can't believe he's gone," she cried.

"Me either sweetie." Bobby held the girl who had held Dean's hand while she nursed him, while they were downstairs fighting to find a way to save him, who was doing her best to hold Sam together, to play intermediary between them and John. "When they were little," he started needing to talk about the man they had just sent to the other side. "When they were little, he didn't talk. Dean didn't speak for about a year or more after their mother died. He just looked around this place with those huge eyes of his and looked so sad. He finally got better, especially when Sam needed him to start communicating to others what he needed. Dean did everything for that boy. He would have died for him. If Sam had needed him to die he would have. Sam's going to have a hole in him for the rest of his life."

"I know." She nodded and tried to wipe away the tears.

"You are going to have to take care of him little lady."

"I will do my best."

"No. It can't be your best, it has to be the best. Dean wouldn't have it any other way. He left you in charge." She looked up at the elder hunter, blue eyes brimming over with tears. "Little lady, he chose you to be his replacement. He chose you to be the one to make Sam okay."

"Did he.."

"Tell me? No. Not in so many words. But the simple fact that he encouraged Sam to tell you about the life says something. The fact that he's known about you the entire time you have been dating Sam."

"What?"

"Oh, he kept track of you guys. Always wanted to be sure his brother was okay." Bobby chuckled. "He went to your house, when he realized that the two of you were really close. He went and checked out your family. I don't even remember what line he fed them, but your mom and dad asked him to stay for dinner, and he didn't. Said he couldn't intrude on Sam's new family that way. Couldn't darken their lives the same way that his life had been darkened. He was happy that your family could give Sam the normal that he always wanted and needed. It hurt him a bit. But he was happy. He told me about it when he was here for a while, got hurt pretty bad on a hunt, and needed some place and someone to help him. His daddy hasn't been much help to him since Sam left."

"He didn't come to see us…"

"Didn't want to bother Sam. Almost didn't go this time. I had to encourage him. Had to tell him how upset Sam would have been if he died without getting a chance to see him one final time.'

"Thank you."

"No thanks needed little lady. I needed Sam here too. I couldn't watch Dean die by myself." She leaned into the older hunter and they both starred off into the distance, into the direction in which they knew fire was consuming one more Winchester.

Sam starred, he couldn't' take his eyes away from the remains of his brother. He felt like if he quit looking, didn't force himself to watch, that he would be slighting Dean somehow. If Dean could take the pain of dying, then Sam could take the pain of watching him burn. It was the least he could do for his brother.

"Sam." John Winchester started.

"I don't want to argue with you Dad."

"I just want to talk to you."

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say."

"Dean wouldn't want us this way."

"The only reason you are standing right there and even seeing Dean's final moments is because that is what Dean would want."

"Sammy."

"It's Sam," Sam said coolly.

"I would have come…"

"But the hunt. Right. I know."

"Sam, lives were…"

"Dean was dying. That was the life you should have been most concerned with. This life, right here." Sam finally turned to his father and pointed to his brother. "That life, was the one who cared whether you lived or died, he was the one who hung the moon on your training, you words, your actions. You were his hero, and you let him down. You let him die, you let him die without even coming to see him." Sam's face was a mask of anger, John had never seen his son incensed like this before. He and Sam had argued for years, they hadn't seen eye to eye since Sam was 12 but this, this was pure rage, and it was barely being held back. John had trained both of his sons to be lethal, but this was the first time he had ever worried that one of them might turn that on him. "You disgust me. I would like you to leave. Now. Get the hell out of here, and don't ever darken my door again."

"Sam…"

"Now! No more excuses, no more self righteous answers, or explanations. No more guilt about mom, no more revenge talk. Just go. Just go find your demon, take care of it and stay the hell away from me, Bobby, and Jessica." John watched his son's eyes darken, as he spoke, and for the first time ever he was afraid, and he did just what Sam said. He turned away, with the intention of never coming back, of never seeing his only remaining son. Sam wasn't satisfied until he heard the growl of the truck pull out of the salvage yard. He turned back the smoldering remains of his brother's cremation, eyes spilling over with tears and said, "I'm sorry Dean. I know you wanted him here. I know you loved him…I just couldn't. I'm sorry."

Daybreak brought Sam back to the house. He staggered in and sat at the kitchen table. Jessica filled a cup with coffee and sat beside him.

"We should go back to school."

"We should."

He looked up at her with red rimmed eyes. "I want to hunt. I want to keep up with Dean's work. I want to save lives."

"We can do that."

"Will you stay? Even if I hunt." Jessica sat down in front of him and gave him the full weight of her eyes.

"I want to be your wife." She said simply.


	17. Packing It In

Jessica was doing everything in her power to keep her grief to herself, to keep her horror to herself, to keep a brave face for Sam, who deserved to break down, who deserved to be a complete and total wreck, after all it was his brother that died.

So, the next morning, she found herself in Bobby's little bathroom on the first floor, with her cell phone in hand dialing her mother's number.

"Jessica!" she exclaimed instead of answering with the standard greeting. "You haven't answered your phone for almost three days! Are you okay?"

"Dean died." She said simply and her mother could hear the tears in her daughter's voice.

After a pause her mother finally said in her gentle everything will be okay tone, "You knew it was coming baby doll."

"I know. But…"

"It doesn't make it easier."

"He was only four years older than us."

Jessica's mom couldn't deny that the thought hadn't crossed her mind when Jessica first told her that she was taking time off to help Sam with his dying brother. The boy was so young, too young to die. "How is his dad taking it?"

"He didn't show up until Dean died. Said he had things to do that couldn't be put off." She said bitterly. Jessica's mom bristled. How could a parent be so cold? If Jessica or her other two children told her that they had terminal cancer, she would be right by their side every single moment of every single day they had left. It would take an act of God to keep her away from her child. What in the world could be more important than you the person you helped create, helped nurture, and helped mold into the person they were?

"How's Sam?" She asked after a moment.

"Sam's okay, well, okay as he's gonna get about this."

"Do you need us to come there, help with the funeral arrangements?"

"No." Jessica pulled a piece of toilet paper off of the role and wiped her eyes. "No, they cremated him. It's done. They are okay. Sam's Uncle Bobby is being a big help. I just wanted to call you and tell you that I love you Mom."

"I love you too baby."

"How you doin' boy?" Bobby asked Sam resting a hand on his shoulder. Sam startled, his eyes came back into focus, and his brain registered that he had been standing in the doorway of his brother's room for a while now.

"I'm doin'." Sam said voice weathered with sadness.

"You leavin' his things here?"

"I was going to take them with me." Bobby slid in the room past Sam.

"He didn't have much here. I think he gave away most of his clothes before you and Jessica showed up. Only a few pairs of jeans, tee shirts, and one coat, and you know which coat that is." Bobby said and moved towards the closet. He took down a shirt and threw it on the bed that hours ago Sam had sat beside and washed his brother's dead body. "He didn't want to go see you and Jessica. Said that he didn't want to disturb your life. Said that you were doing good and that you shouldn't have to worry about him." Another shirt hit the bed. "But you know your brother, just the idea of you being mad at him, even dead, was too much for him to take." Two more shirts hit the bed. "So he went. I knew deep down that he was scared to die alone, that's why he came here. He needed someone around, someone to talk to."

"Dad left him alone that much?" Sam asked and walked inside the room. He found Dean's duffel on the top shelf of the closet.

"Yeah. You left and your dad left soon after. One day your dad just left without sharing much, just said, 'Dean you need to hunt on your own, be a man, you can't be following me around for the rest of your life.'"

"How do you know that?" Sam asked and started folding Dean's shirts and putting them gently inside the old raggedy duffel.

"Dean told me. There was a hunt not too long back. Your brother was hurt bad. Real bad." Sam swallowed hard. "The doctor gave him some really good pain stuff, and he just started babbling one day, so doped up on pain meds the boy didn't know what he was saying." Bobby shook his head and Sam continued to fold. "Told me everything. Told me about John leaving, checking on you at Stanford…" Sam stopped folding.

"He checked on me?"

"Hell yeah boy. Of course he did. You think that he would just let you go somewhere and not check in, make sure you were really doing okay? Come on. Don't pretend you didn't know your brother."

"I'm starting to think that maybe I didn't."

"That's bull shit and you know it kid. You knew him better than any person alive."

Silence hung between them as they folded up what remained of Dean. "I never wanted him completely gone from my life Bobby." Sam said with head hung low.

"You did. And that's okay."

"I feel guilty as hell."

"I understand. But your brother never begrudged you your slice of normal."

"I should have called him."

"What's past is past Sam. You can't live the rest of your life filled with regret, and sadness, or you'll end up like your daddy. Dean wanted you to be happy. It is that simple." Sam said nothing and moved to the last drawer in the dresser and found his brother's favored weapons and a leather bound journal. Bobby noted that Sam was hesitating in front of the dresser and asked, "What did you find?"

"Dean's hunting stuff."

"His knife?"

Sam nodded, pulled it from the drawer and slid it from its sheath. The knife glinted in the light, and Sam slowly rolled it around in his hand to get a look at it from all sides. This knife had provided years of comfort and protection for both brothers. It was a gift from their father and Dean cherished it, slept with it under his pillow at night, and fought any evil son of a bitch that ever came near his little brother with it. He re-sheathed it and put it into the duffel and pulled out his brother's gun, and for a moment he thought that he could feel his brother's hand print on the grip, thought that he could shove his long fingers into the invisible grooves left by his older brother. He swallowed, and put it back into the duffel with the rest of the things. Finally, he pulled out his brother's hunting journal. He fingered it, passed a hand over the worn leather, put it close to his face and took in the smell that was his brother's duffel bag, his coat, his body, and hesitated over the duffel bag, and instead of putting it inside, he zipped up the bag and put the journal inside his own coat, close to his body.

"We'll leave in the morning if that's okay Bobby."

"Stay as long as you like."

"We'll leave in the morning." Sam reiterated, unable to stay longer, unable to be in the same place where his brother took his last breath. He looked around the room, eyes brimming over with unshed tears. It suddenly became harder to breathe and he quickly stood, duffel in hand. "I have to get out of here." He said and his long legs took him out of the room in two large steps. Bobby watched him go and he stood in the center of the room one of his boys had died in, and Bobby suddenly felt empty. He sank onto the bed, and rubbed face and despite his determination, the tears started afresh.

The day moved in a sort of blurr, Jessica spending most of her afternoon cleaning Bobby's house, and Bobby spending most of his time out in the salvage yard, taking care of things that he hadn't thought to take care of in the final weeks of Dean's life. And Sam. Sam spent his time in the room he and Jessica had been sharing, starring down at the leather bound journal. It took him an hour to make himself open it to the first blank page, and it took extreme effort to start reading it.

Jessica, when exhausted with housework, went on the hunt for Sam, she was going to start fixing supper and she needed to know what he was going to be able to swallow and keep down. She found him with relative ease, he was sitting atop the bed, cross legged, head bowed over a book.

"Sam?" She asked and came in the room further, and noted that Sam was crying again. "Sam?" she repeated.

"_Mom was so pretty Sammy. Her hair was real long, and it was soft. She used to like to eat ice cream. She liked it a lot. We went out for it a lot. Or at least my four year old mind thought it was a lot. Maybe that's why you like it so much. But she was soft and nice, and she loved you even though she hadn't met you. She talked to you all of the time, and when I got jealous (this part I don't remember, Dad told me) she pulled me aside and explained to me that having a brother is the best thing in the world, that we could be best friends, that I could teach you how to play ball, and how to talk, and walk and all of that kind of stuff. _

_Sammy, I'm sorry I never taught you any of the normal stuff. I don't know how to do normal stuff. I've never known. All I've ever known is how to hunt, how to be a big brother, how to work on a car. Those things you didn't want or need to know. So I taught you how to chase girls. Not exactly great, but it's the best I got."_ Sam stopped and looked up at Jessica, his eyes red and swollen, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Jessica hurried over and sat next to him pushed hair out of his face. "He left me stories." He said and sniffed. "Left me memories." His voice was so strangled and so sad that she could hear that little boy that Dean had told her about. The one that got upset when they found a baby bird dead on the road, the kid that had to have a funeral for the bird because its mommy wasn't there and someone needed to make sure it got to heaven.

She pulled him close to her and rocked him back and forth and just listened to him cry. The book flipped pages when Sam's leg moved and starring back at her was a list: a bucket list.

1) See Sam again

2) Make sure Sam is okay

3) Spend the summer with Bobby fixing cars

4) Spend an evening sitting on the front porch watching the sun set, drink a beer, with Bobby

5) Tell Sam that I love him

6) Write a journal of all of the things I remember, that were good, from our childhood

7) Write entries in the journal of all of the not so good things that I remember from our childhood.

8) Get to know Jessica

9) Tell Jessica stories about Sam—teach her how to make him okay

10) Tell Sammy I'm proud of him.

Each had been crossed off in dark black ink, except for the last. Jessica's own tears started afresh and she hugged the sobbing frame of Sam Winchester close to her. _I'll make sure he knows you were proud of him Dean. I'll make sure._


	18. The End

**Fifteen Years Later**

"Sam, we need to go to bed. We aren't going to find anything."

"Jess, I can feel that we're close." Jessica sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

"Sam. We both have to work tomorrow. Something tells me that my patients aren't going to accept the explanation, 'well, my husband and I were trying to figure out what supernatural baddie is trying to off a town.' Something just tells me that they are more concerned with the cancer in their bodies, and would think I'm a quack if I say that."

Sam looked up from the tome he was reading and sighed. He leaned back against the chair, and took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're right. I have to be at court in the morning. It's just that…."

"I know. You're used to researching a hunt until it's done and going and killing the bad guy. We can't do that anymore Sam. We just can't. We have to take it a little at a time." She rubbed a hand up and down his arm.

"You're right. I know you're right….Let's go to bed."

"Yes. Lets." They were headed towards the front of the house, that looked like all other houses, that looked like a house a lawyer and a doctor would own, and just as they were opening the secret door, they heard a knock on the door that led to their hunting room. Jessica turned and answered the door. There stood two hunters. Young. The older one, around 25 was holding up a younger hunter, one who was almost unconscious, dried blood was all over his shirt, and fresh blood was seeping onto his shirt.

The elder boy shuffled a little and then asked. "Are you guys the people that help hunters?" Jessica nodded.

"I'm Jessica Winchester and this is my husband Sam. What happened?" she asked as Sam went around and helped the kid with the other hunter.

"Don't really know. We split up, thought we could cover more ground that way, I heard something, heard him scream, and then he was on the ground, blood was everywhere. I didn't know what else to do, so I put him in the car, and I'd heard about you guys, didn't know if it was true or not. So, I hurried him here. We were a state and a half away." Jessica's eyes clouded over with concern.

"We'll take care of him. What's his name?" she asked as Sam and the elder boy hoisted the injured man onto her examining table.

"Luke." She smiled.

"Luke sweetie, you have to hang on. I'll do my best but you have to hang with me. Your friend…"

"Brother. He's my brother." He said with worried eyes. Sam swallowed and he rolled up his shirt sleeves.

"Luke…" Sam leaned over and whispered to the younger hunter. "You can't leave your brother. It's against the rules." Sam said and they began the process of cleaning up and helping the younger hunter.

That is Dean Winchester's legacy, a brother and a sister-in-law who helped people, helped hunters help other people. They made a difference. They made life bearable for those who kept the evil of the world from hurting others along the way. Every single day of his life, Sam tried to make his brother proud, he defended those who were downtrodden and misunderstood, even defended a hunter or ten. Jessica, whose major had been archaeology, returned to Stanford and became pre-med. She became a cancer doctor, who specialized in keeping hunters from dying. Each, whose career made them more money than they could ever use, provided whatever services they could for any hunter who needed it free of charge. And Bobby Singer encouraged those who needed help to come. Because all were welcome at the Winchester home, because all were safe within their salt lines, and magical defenses.

Jessica watched Sam take the elder hunter aside and sit with him, hand him a cup of coffee, and she heard him say something about Dean, something about knowing what it's like to be a brother. The elder seemed to relax as he sipped his coffee, and stealing glances her way. The boy on her table would be fine. It seemed as if her office was blessed. When a hunter came through, no matter how grave the injuries, they usually survived. It was like an angel was watching over them. And every night before she went to bed, she said a prayer for her family, the hunters in the world, and she gave a silent thank you to Dean, because she knew that he was pulling as many strings as he could in heaven and she was eternally thankful.

She looked at Sam again and smiled. Dean's bucket list was complete, Dean would be proud, and Jessica thought, hoped, and prayed that Sam knew it.

The End


End file.
